


In the Blur of Serenity

by Brenda



Series: Barnes & Rogers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, Domestic Bliss, M/M, Sassy Bucky Barnes, Sassy Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The grooves around Bucky's mouth deepen when he grins, rakish and wide.  "Don't lie, you loved every decadent minute of it."</i>
</p><p><i>"Yeah, well, I never claimed to be smart where you're concerned." Steve shrugs, but answers with his own smile, because he doesn't think he could ever see Bucky smile and not want to in return.</i>  </p><p>Or:</p><p>Bucky discovers the horror of Wikipedia and Steve sort of fails to make breakfast.  Post-Winter Soldier domestic fluff, because there isn't enough, and they deserve it. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Blur of Serenity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ignipes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/gifts).



> For Ignipes, who gave me the idea in the first place.
> 
> You can find the podfic [here](https://soundcloud.com/user-610328820/podfic-in-the-blur-of-serenity) :)

" _ROGERS_!!! Get your ass in here, goddammit!!!"

"Jesus, Bucky, what the hell?" Steve comes skidding out of the kitchen, a plastic spatula raised high like a baseball bat (it's the first thing he'd grabbed), on high alert, ready to neutralize the threat, adrenaline pumping, and – 

"Is that _flour_ in your hair?"

Steve's free hand flies to his hairline, and when he pulls his fingers away to examine them, little puffs of white follow in their wake. "Um, maybe? Probably." 

He takes a breath, lets his gaze skate across the living room. Nothing _looks_ out of the ordinary. Sofa, armchair, paintings, TV, stereo, everything's where it should be, no one's lurking in the shadows or crashing through the windows with guns blazing. Bucky also doesn't look like he's under imminent attack. He looks whole and healthy, wearing only a pair of black sleep pants, metal arm gleaming in the light of the sun coming through the open curtains, his dark hair a kitten-ish mess sticking up from his head.

 _Definitely_ not under attack. In fact, Bucky looks exactly like a man who'd just rolled out of bed a few minutes ago. Which, to be fair, they both kinda had, so –

"What's going on, why are you –?"

" _This_ is what's going on." Bucky jabs a finger at the laptop seated on the coffee table in front of him. The ridiculously large flat-screen TV (a gift from Stark) on the opposite wall is showing the Mets vs. Braves game on mute, and it looks like the Mets are getting their asses handed to them on a silver platter. But Bucky's not even paying attention to the latest massacre happening in Flushing. He's too busy glaring at the computer screen like it's a target he's trying to interrogate. (It's a _great_ glare.) "It's _bullshit_."

"What's bullshit?" Curious, Steve steps around the table and then groans when he sees the familiar Wikipedia logo in the top-left corner of the screen. "I'm killing Sam the next time I see him."

"Why, I thought you liked him." Bucky scrolls down the page, frowns again. "They'll let anyone post any fucking thing these days, won't they?"

"Yeah, I think so. I think that's the entire point of the internet, to be honest." And while a useful tool, it's definitely one Steve has learned to use with wary caution. "Do I even want to know what's got your dander up?"

"Dander?" Bucky quirks an eyebrow. "Jesus, you really are an old man these days."

Steve rolls his eyes. Like he hadn't caught Bucky using the phrase 'swell gal' to describe Hill the other day. "Still younger than you, gramps."

"Hold on while I fetch my cane so I can beat you with it."

"Yeah, yeah, you and what army?"

"Why would I need one when I still know all your ticklish spots?" Bucky asks, then frowns at the computer again.

"Well?" Steve prompts, when Bucky doesn't say anything else. "You gonna tell me what's wrong or what?"

"Your Wikipedia entry is what's wrong. And I mean, it's _all_ fucking wrong. They've got _you_ all wrong." 

Bucky spits out the words like it's the filthiest, worst insult he can think of. Like getting Steve's entry wrong is the most heinous crime known to man. He says it like a man who's never gotten Steve wrong, not once, in all the years (and centuries) they've known each other.

And seeing him, all indignant and ready to do battle on Steve's behalf like he used to back when they'd been kids, Steve feels a wave of relief so profound he almost staggers under the force of it. Bucky's _here_. Sitting on the plush monstrosity people are calling a sofa these days in the living room of the house they'd bought together. After all they've sacrificed and all they've lost, they've finally been able to take something just for themselves. And maybe they're not exactly what anyone would call whole and maybe they still both wake up from too many nightmares with the taste of gunpowder and ash on their tongues and the echo of dying screams in their ears, but they still wake up _together_.

They're both alive. They've made it.

It still doesn't seem quite real some days.

Then the skin between Bucky's brows wrinkles. "Seriously, why are you holding that spatula like you're trying out for the Dodgers? I gotta say, it's a terrible weapon choice. I'm not even sure I could turn it into something lethal and I once killed a guy with a pepper shaker."

There's a certain reckless note of defiance in his voice, one Steve only hears when Bucky brings up his Winter Soldier days. He still slips in little remarks like this, like he's daring Steve to pass judgment on him for his past. Like Steve even has a right to do so. Like Steve's own hands aren't just as stained with the blood of the innocent, like he doesn't have a thousand regrets circling in his head keeping him up at night.

Steve lowers the spatula, gives Bucky a speculative look. Meets Bucky's defiance with his own, because they're in this together, always have been, always will be. "You'll have to teach me how you did that. You never know when it'll come in handy in a fight."

Bucky shakes his head, but Steve can tell he's calmer now. Easing back into himself between one breath and the next. "Some days, I wonder about you." 

"I know, you'd think I'd have better taste, but here I am, still shacked up with you, so."

Bucky scoffs, but Steve can see the way his eyes are dancing. They're bright now, clear of whatever memory had darkened them. "No one else could put up with you and that apple pie exterior. Lucky for you, I already know you're an asshole under that perfect Captain America front you show the world."

"I'm lucky alright." He's the luckiest guy in the five boroughs and maybe New York and maybe even the whole damn planet.

"You keep looking at me like that, and you're gonna get a lot luckier," Bucky says, then nods at Steve's bare chest. "So? Not that it's not an attractive decoration, but what's up with the flour?"

Steve points back at the kitchen. "I was making breakfast. Pancakes, if you must know. Because _someone_ in this room was whining earlier about how he was starving and needed food, I don't suppose that's ringing any bells?"

"Maybe. But it's almost two. In the afternoon," Bucky adds, like the sun shining through the curtains could be mistaken for anything else. "A little late for breakfast, wouldn't you say?"

"It's not exactly like it's my fault you wouldn't let me out of bed this morning."

The grooves around Bucky's mouth deepen when he grins, rakish and wide. "Don't lie, you loved every decadent minute of it."

"Yeah, well, I never claimed to be smart where you're concerned." Steve shrugs, but answers with his own smile, because he doesn't think he could ever see Bucky smile and not want to in return. They can do this now. They're allowed to smile and tease each other and trade good-natured insults. They can share knowing looks and bask in the sunlight, and stay in bed until early afternoon after spending the morning relearning each other by taste and touch. 

It's far more than Steve deserves, but he's not gonna look the gift horse in the mouth. He's just grateful they've been given this second – well, third – chance.

"So you gonna tell me what's got your boxers in a twist about my entry or not?"

"You're the one wearing boxers, not me," Bucky says, then glances at the boxers in question. "Although I think those are mine."

Steve glances down. Sure enough, they're Bucky's pin-striped black ones, not his own bright blue ones. In his defense, he hadn't really been paying attention when he'd thrown them on. "Huh, I just thought I was gaining weight."

"Yeah, I don't think that's physically possible, pal. Anyway, I like 'em on you. They outline your best assets," Bucky adds, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Steve emphatically does _not_ blush. Especially considering what he and Bucky've been doing all morning. "Enough talk about my assets."

"I could always show you how much I like 'em," Bucky replies, dragging a heated gaze down Steve's body, the look as physical as any caress. "If you didn't want to talk, I mean."

"Stand down, soldier, you showed me plenty of appreciation earlier." Although certain parts of Steve's anatomy are definitely interested in the idea of an encore performance. "Breakfast first, then more asset management."

Bucky chokes out a surprised laugh. "Well done, Rogers. I'm proud of you."

"Not just a pretty face, Barnes."

"I guess I can't be the brains of the operation all the time," Bucky concedes.

"Yeah, you're a real Einstein," Steve snorts, amused. "Who was it that couldn't figure out how to operate the washing machine?"

"There are too many goddamn buttons," Bucky growls, making a face. "What the fuck do I care if there's a gentle cycle or whatever the fuck a permanent press is? Just get my goddamn clothes clean. Who cares about soil levels and fabric softener?"

"Beats me," Steve says. He's just as clueless. "So, my entry? You yelling out like Hydra was busting in the front door?"

"Yeah, I'd like to see 'em try." Bucky turns back to the laptop and flicks at the screen. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure whoever wrote up your Wikipedia page is a freakin' dunce. Like I said, _everything_ in it is wrong. I'm surprised they got your birthday right."

Definitely killing Sam, Steve thinks, and sighs. _Encourage him to Google about the two of you_ , Sam had said, in the early days after they'd convinced Bucky to come back to New York. _Maybe it might help him remember more about his past, or at least point him in the right direction to spark a conversation_.

Which, to be fair to Sam, because Steve believed in giving credit where it's due, it _had_ been great advice. Bucky'd had a ton of questions, which had led to some great conversations, as he and Steve had traded recollections and remembrances. It had been the start of a good healing process, for the both of them.

But unleashing Bucky on the internet had also been like opening Pandora's Box. He'd been curious about _everything_ with his and Steve's name anywhere near it. (Steve never ever needed to see certain...pornographic...websites devoted to him and Bucky ever again. People had way too much free time these days.) Still, even the amused horror at the discovery of Captain America porn (Bucky's amusement, Steve's horror) beat the terrifyingly blank looks Bucky used to get when he was trying to remember the days before Hydra had gotten hold of him.

Nowadays, Bucky's taken to reclaiming his past with a furious sort of vengeance. It's like, with every memory he regains, he's shouting a big fuck you to Pierce and Zola and everything they'd taken from him and everything they _hadn't_ been able to take. Steve's learned to encourage it, even though Bucky's got nothing to prove, not to himself, not to anyone. Sometimes it's just easier to let him get it all out of his system. 

"Do I even wanna know?"

"The street we grew up on is wrong, the neighborhood of that crappy little apartment we shared before the War is wrong, what we both did for a living back then is all wrong. The order of our missions in Europe is all jacked up. I mean, Christ, they've got you taking down that weapons facility in Prague all by yourself and that was some of Dernier's best work."

"They did what?" Steve sinks down next to Bucky on the sofa and quickly scans the part in question. His brows come together as he frowns. "Wait, that's not right at all."

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

"I mean, I don't care much that no one knows where we grew up or anything, but I was nothing without you and the rest of the Commandos. What we did...what we accomplished back then...it was _all_ of us. A team. The world should know that much, at least." His hands itch with the need to correct the mistake himself, but he doesn't move. This isn't his fight.

"Still my best guy, fighting the injustices of the world before breakfast and with pancake batter on his cheek, no less." Bucky grins, and leans in to steal a kiss. "Now go finish cooking or clean up or whatever it is you were doing before you burn the kitchen down again –"

"– it was _one_ pan, _one_ time, Buck –"

"– and I'm gonna correct all these mistakes," Bucky continues. "God knows I'll need a decent meal afterwards, there are a ton."

Steve knows what he really means – let me right this wrong, atone for this transgression, show you, show the world, that I remember who I am, where I came from, who I used to be – but he doesn't try to talk Bucky out of it. It'd be a futile argument, first off, and if it'll ease Bucky's conscience, who is Steve to judge. They've all got their own methods of coping with the guilt and remorse and with squaring up the past.

He leans in for his own kiss, chases Bucky's tongue with his own until Bucky relaxes against him, allows Steve the lead. Tastes the familiar acrid bite that's all Bucky – part metal, part smoke – and delves in, wanting to coat the flavor on his tongue, under his skin, in his blood. He fists a hand in Bucky's hair, holds him still, bites down on his lower lip until Bucky moans, then soothes the sting with another long, drugging kiss. 

Bucky's cheeks are flushed, his eyes are half-lidded, and his lips are delightfully swollen, by the time Steve pulls away. A large part of him just wants to drag Bucky back into the bedroom and shut out the world. They don't need anyone else, never have.

"I'm not the only crusader in this house, you know," he says, and takes great delight in the way Bucky's blush spreads to his collarbones.

"Well, I never claimed to be all that smart, either," Bucky replies, with a small shrug. "Besides, how could I be when I'm still following you around?"

"I like you following me around."

"I think you just like me staring at your ass."

"Busted. But I still say yours is better."

"Hell yeah mine's better," Bucky says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, I love your ass, you know that, but come on. That's not even an argument."

No way Steve's winning this one, so he doesn't even try. Instead, he just stands and pats Bucky's shoulder. "Don't start too many fights on the internet before I get back in here, alright."

Bucky's already bent over the keyboard, fingers flying away, tongue tucked between his teeth, eyes narrowing in concentration. "No promises."

"Why am I not surprised to hear that," Steve sighs, and heads back into the kitchen. Hopefully, he can distract Bucky with breakfast – or at least, distract him by telling him his plans for the maple syrup later – before Bucky can get into a flame war with half the editors on Wikipedia.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Melle for the beta!!!
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In the Blur of Serenity (The Wikipedia Twist Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228473) by [angelgazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgazing/pseuds/angelgazing)




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